New Fic-Wishful thinking -8

The following afternoon, I stood before a stainless steel table in the kitchen at Mike's Bar and Grill. Dad always made lunch for the waitstaff before the evening shift. Once again, Rob and I constituted the entire staff.

But Rob hadn't shown up for lunch.

Dad pretended to be surprised. I wasn't astonished, but I had hoped, dreamed, wished with all my might that Jaze's retraction of my magical misstep had patched things up between Rob and me. I should have cut to the chase and wished for Rob to love me again, to love me as simply and easily as he had for all the rest of our lives. Having failed to use my genie to my best advantage, though, even on a second try, I’d have to take matters into my own hands.

I'd win Rob back with a Tower of Love sundae.

I couldn't remember which of us had been the first to build a Tower. Our special dessert was born out of the sad-but-true fact that most people don't know how to make a proper ice cream sundae. Most people prefer hot fudge. A few choose caramel. Almost everyone uses vanilla ice cream.

Rob and I were the only people we knew who preferred strawberry sauce, mixed with pineapple. Over coffee ice cream. With slices of barely-ripe banana and mounds and mounds of whipped cream. No nuts. Definitely no nuts.

Don't knock it till you've tried it.

We'd shared Towers when we'd been cast in the plays of our dreams. When we'd missed out on treasured roles. When we'd buried our geriatric childhood pets, Fluffy and Mittens and Rex.

I was adding the final dollop of whipped cream when Rob came into the kitchen. His curls looked like they'd braved all the winds of the seven seas, and his eyes were bloodshot. I was willing to bet that he hadn't slept the night before.

Neither had I.

"Rob—" I said.

"Kelly," he said, at the same time. I edged the fluted sundae dish toward him. I'd already placed it on a saucer to catch the inevitable spillover of sauce.

I stared at him steadily. "I'm sorry," I said. When he didn't reply, I held up a pair of spoons.

He closed the distance between us with an urgency that made my heart pound. He snatched the spoons from my hand and clattered them onto the table.

Before I could say anything more, before I could react, he clutched my arms, pulling me close. His mouth on mine was hot, and I was startled by his urgency as he tangled his fingers in my hair. He leaned into me hard, and I felt the metal table, cold against my spine. Shocked, I finally remembered to kiss him back.

And kiss him. And kiss him.

And then, without warning, he stepped away. I saw the look in his eyes—shock at what he'd done. Remorse. I felt the bitter knife of disappointment before he said a word.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, casting a wild glance at the already-melting Tower. "That was a mistake. Kelly, I shouldn't have—I mean…goodbye." And before I could stammer out something, anything, he was gone.